THE DREAM is over. It was snapped.
No, it wasn't a nightmare, I am assured. Could be an illusion or a denotation of the same but 'nice'. Inexplicably Nice. Ephemeral nuances is the Lord of all moods. You aspire for them, take justifiably good care of them because; they are around to tune in to your aimless tick-tack-toe for sometime and after those rare 'kind of happy' moments you are the same somebody. Enrique's somebody. Yes that somebody's me. However mighty I might be, when it aches, I cry. I am loud.
Oh! the bitter tears......cut deep into my soul, wawling- a jerk in the funny bone- the rising mist- ah! there am I up on the podium:
addicted to a few kicked off pebbles, addicted to the thatched black and white frame, addicted to my old drooping shoulders.
Not by choice.
I like nightmares too though a bit less than dreams or daydreams. It is the rebounding rate of transitory factors and no impetuous dark belief.
Storytelling seems so useless now and snapping dreams is culpable.
Well, I am awake. Slumbering.
